


Interconnected

by lovefierro



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/F, F/M, Lots of Other Characters - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:42:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27369721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovefierro/pseuds/lovefierro
Summary: Three books.One timeline.And soon, they will all see (read, actually) how they all fit into it.Basically a crossover reading the books fanfic.
Relationships: Blitzen & Magnus Chase & Hearthstone, Magnus Chase & Alex Fierro & Halfborn Gunderson & Thomas Jefferson Jr. & Mallory Keen, Magnus Chase/Alex Fierro, Samirah al-Abbas & Alex Fierro
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	1. Thrown Together (Literally) | Magnus

THE FIRST THING MAGNUS HEARD?

That would be Alex Fierro's cry of, "Dammit!" as the two of them crashed onto the ground. 

They were in a lounge; no, it was actually more like a library. Rows of bookshelves lined themselves across walls, and blue (why did it always have to be blue?) armchairs lined themselves up with glass windows overlooking a city. The city itself was like every other one; more old and beat-up than the library they were in.

And the weirdest thing? All Magnus's buddies, alive or dead, were there. Sam, Hearth, Blitz, T.J, Mallory, and Halfborn. Which didn't make any sense, because just a moment ago, Alex and Magnus had been on their way to Monopoly to The Death (don't ask).

What also didn't make sense? There also were a room full of strangers, all different ages and sizes, all looking at each other like ghosts.

Let him clarify; he had never seen these people in his life (or afterlife). There were about twenty girls, minus Magnus's buddies, and half as many guys.

About half of the girls seemed to be dressed like they were at a never ending funeral (seriously, they were worst than Hearth) and the other half all looked as different as anyone could imagine. For example, one girl that was blond haired and blue eyed, who looked to be about twelve) was holding onto another who had black hair that was pulled into a braid and eyes that reminded Magnus of Onyx. And there was a girl with long blond hair dressed in black with what looked like to be a tattoo of a raven flying away from her collarbone.

The boys were even weirder (somehow also excluding his friends). There were boys and mendressed in blue, gray, or black, men dressed in hunting or fishing gear (why, Magnus wasn't sure) and men that looked like they literally just walked out of a computer lab.

Blond Raven girl pulled out a gun about the same time Onyx girl pulled out a bow and arrow. Alex and the rest of Magnus's buddies in pulled out their weapons (which got Hearth, Blitz, and Alex some really weird looks, for obvious reasons).

Magnus stepped between the girls and his friends. "Hold it!" He yelled. "We don't even know each other! Will you at least grant us the honor of knowing whose killing us? And maybe you're reasoning behind it."

A blond boy stepped up. "He's right. We should at least decide whether they are a threat, Katniss."

Katniss (aka. Onyx girl) looked at him angrily. "Peeta! They pulled their weapons on us!"

Sam readied her axe. "After you pulled yours on us."

Blonde Raven girl put her gun away. "We should hear them out. Peeta, or whatever you name is, is right. We should hear them out. And if they're a threat..."

She trailed off but her meaning was clear. Magnus and his friends (and possibly Katniss and her friends, from the way she acted) would be killed if they decided they were a threat.

All his friends lowered their weapons, but they still seemed to be on guard, which Magnus was grateful for, because he also wasn't sure if he could trust them all.

A blond boy dressed in gray stepped up. He looked close enough to Blonde Raven girl that they could've been siblings. "Beatrice, are you sure about this?"

A boy in all black snickered. Beatrice (Blonde Raven Girl) shot him a glare and nodded towards Gray Boy.

Peeta clapped his hands. He was obviously the talker of his group. He reminded Magnus scarily of Loki, if Loki had good intentions and dressed like a baker. "Great! We're all in an agreement. Now I believe that introductions are in order. That's the least we can do." He turned to Beatrice. "Your name is Beatrice, correct? What's your district?"

District? 

Beatrice seemed to read Magnus's mind (though he knew that was pretty stupid to think). "Um... District? Don't you mean faction?"

Alex waved his hands (he was male currently, btw) and shook his head. "Woah, woah, woah.... What the Hel is a district and faction?"

And if that wasn't weird enough, the Norns just had to come.

Magnus and his buddies instantly payed attention to the three Norns (honestly, the only reason Magnus did was because he didn't feel like attending Disrespecting Norns to The Death).

"The Norns," Sam said. "If I may ask, what are you doing here?"

Of course they just had to answer Sam. (Thanks Sam! He really appreciated another potential prophecy!)

" _Brought from different times_

_They must find where their lives bind_

_One Divergent, One Enherjar, One Victor_

_Yet, united, they find they should find their answers quicker_ "

Magnus hated their voices. They were like insanely powerful ear worms. And before Magnus knew it, those ear worms were gone (curse the ear worms!).

"What's that supposed to mean?" The girl that was hugging Katniss asked.

Katniss looked at the girl. "I'm not sure Prim. But they seemed to."

It took Magnus a moment to realize they were all looking at his friends. Including him (One of Magnus's best friends apparently was himself).

Mallory pushed her way past Magnus. "Get out of the way, Beantown. That, everyone was a prophecy. That probably explained why we all seem to be on different planets."

Way to put it bluntly Mallory, Magnus thought.


	2. Why Can't We Just Have A Normal Life? | Tris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group ends up discovering why they were brought together.

"SO, WHAT YOU'RE TELLING ME IS THAT APPARENTLY WE'RE FROM THE FUTURE?"

Tris rolled her eyes. Leave it to Uriah to question everything about themselves at the worst possible time.

Hearthstone, if Tris remembered his name correctly, nodded and made a motion with his hands, which meant he was answering Uriah or meaning something completely different.

"Yes Uriah," Christina said tiredly, "that's what everyone's been trying to tell you for the last half hour."

"But..."

Caleb shook his head. "Listen, we're not getting anywhere with what we're doing. We need to figure out the prophecy, or whatever that was. If we do, we can go home."

Alex, who apparently was a male, according to him, raised his hand. "Um... speaking of home, where are we?"

Will looked around. "Erudite headquarters."

Magnus, or Blonde Boy as Tris liked to call him, walked over to one of the bookshelves. "Is it just me, or are three of these books glowing?"

Tris, A girl named Sam, and another girl named Prim walked over to where he was looking. Sure enough, three of the books were glowing a brilliant orange color. Brighter than even Amity colors. Tris saw one of the books titles and froze; one of the books was called Divergent.

She hoped it was about someone else, but knowing her luck, it was about her.

"They are glowing..." Prim said in amazement.

Sam looked at them. "We need to read them. It might be the only way."

"How do you know?" Lynn yelled.

Sam just rolled her eyes. Tris was starting to like her. "Books don't glow for no reason. And, as far as I can tell, they're about us."

There was a stunned silence. Only broken by the fall of a book.

It was one of the three glowing ones. The front read, Magnus Chase and The Gods of Asgard: The Sword of Summer and Tris picked it up.

"I think..." She said, "the book just picked itself out."

Once they had all settled themselves in various spots throughout the library (one of many, according to Will) Tris had been elected to read.

Meaning everyone told her to start reading.

ONE

Good Morning! You’re Going to Die

Katniss, who apparently was Prim's older sister raised an eyebrow, while Uriah muttered, "That's a cheery title."

Yeah, I know. You guys are going to read about how I died in agony, and you’re going be like, 'Wow! That sounds cool, Magnus! Can I die in agony, too?'

Sam shook her head. "Magnus, trust me, no one's going to ask that."

No. Just no.

Don’t go jumping off any rooftops.

"Too late!" Tris yelled, along with all the Dauntless.

Don’t run into the highway or set yourself on fire. It doesn’t work that way. You will not end up where I ended up.

Besides, you wouldn’t want to deal with my situation. Unless you’ve got some crazy desire to see undead warriors hacking one another to pieces, swords flying up giants’ noses and dark elves in snappy outfits, you shouldn’t even think about finding the wolf-headed doors.

"Well, damn, I really wanted to see dead warriors. Too bad," Christina muttered.

My name is Magnus Chase. I’m sixteen years old. This is the story of how my life went downhill after I got myself killed.

My day started out normal enough. I was sleeping on the sidewalk under a bridge in the Public Garden when a guy kicked me awake and said, ‘They’re after you.’

By the way, I’ve been homeless for the past two years.

"Is that like Factionless? No home, horrible jobs?" Caleb asked, and Blitzen, Tris remembered, nodded his head in a quick answer.

Some of you may think, Aw, how sad. Others may think, Ha, ha, loser! But, if you saw me on the street, ninety-nine per cent of you would walk right past like I’m invisible. You’d pray, Don’t let him ask me for money. You’d wonder if I’m older than I look, because surely a teenager wouldn’t be wrapped in a stinky old sleeping bag, stuck outside in the middle of a Boston winter. Somebody should help that poor boy!

Then you’d keep walking.

Whatever. I don’t need your sympathy. I’m used to being laughed at. I’m definitely used to being ignored. Let’s move on.

The bum who woke me was a guy called Blitz. As usual, he looked like he’d been running through a dirty hurricane. His wiry black hair was full of paper scraps and twigs. His face was the colour of saddle leather and was flecked with ice. His beard curled in all directions. Snow caked the bottom of his trench coat where it dragged around his feet – Blitz being about five feet five – and his eyes were so dilated the irises were all pupil. His permanently alarmed expression made him look like he might start screaming any second.

I blinked the gunk out of my eyes. My mouth tasted like day-old hamburger. My sleeping bag was warm, and I really didn’t want to get out of it.

‘Who’s after me?’

‘Not sure.’ Blitz rubbed his nose, which had been broken so many times it zigzagged like a lightning bolt. ‘They’re handing out flyers with your name and picture.’

I cursed. Random police and park rangers I could deal with. Truant officers, community-service volunteers, drunken college kids, addicts looking to roll somebody small and weak – all those would’ve been as easy to wake up to as pancakes and orange juice.

"Really? Pancakes and orange juice?" Christina asked.

Magnus muttered something about trying it before defying it, or whatever.

But when somebody knew my name and my face – that was bad. That meant they were targeting me specifically. Maybe the folks at the shelter were mad at me for breaking their stereo. (Those Christmas carols had been driving me crazy.) Maybe a security camera had caught that last bit of pickpocketing I did in the Theater District. (Hey, I needed money for pizza.) Or maybe, unlikely as it seemed, the police were still looking for me, wanting to ask questions about my mom’s murder…

I packed my stuff, which took about three seconds. The sleeping bag rolled up tight and fitted in my backpack with my toothbrush and a change of socks and underwear. Except for the clothes on my back, that’s all I owned. With the backpack over my shoulder and the hood of my jacket pulled low, I could blend in with pedestrian traffic pretty well. Boston was full of college kids. Some of them were even more scraggly and younger-looking than me.

I turned to Blitz. ‘Where’d you see these people with the flyers?’

‘Beacon Street. They’re coming this way. Middle-aged white guy and a teenage girl, probably his daughter.’

I frowned. ‘That makes no sense. Who –’

‘I don’t know, kid, but I gotta go.’ Blitz squinted at the sunrise, which was turning the skyscraper windows orange. For reasons I’d never quite understood, Blitz hated the daylight. Maybe he was the world’s shortest, stoutest homeless vampire. ‘You should go see Hearth. He’s hanging out in Copley Square.’

I tried not to feel irritated. The local street people jokingly called Hearth and Blitz my mom and dad because one or the other always seemed to be hovering around me.

Hearthstone made another gesture with his hands, though Tris wasn't sure what it was. She really needed to find a way to understand him.

‘I appreciate it,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

Blitz chewed his thumbnail. ‘I dunno, kid. Not today. You gotta be extra careful.’

‘Why?’

He glanced over my shoulder. ‘They’re coming.’

I didn’t see anybody. When I turned back, Blitz was gone.

I hated it when he did that. Just – Poof. The guy was like a ninja. A homeless vampire ninja.

Now I had a choice: go to Copley Square and hang out with Hearth, or head towards Beacon Street and try to spot the people who were looking for me.

Blitz’s description of them made me curious. A middle-aged white guy and a teenage girl searching for me at sunrise on a bitter-cold morning. Why? Who were they?

I crept along the edge of the pond. Almost nobody took the lower trail under the bridge. I could hug the side of the hill and spot anyone approaching on the higher path without them seeing me.

Snow coated the ground. The sky was eye-achingly blue. The bare tree branches looked like they’d been dipped in glass. The wind cut through my layers of clothes, but I didn’t mind the cold. My mom used to joke that I was half polar bear.

"Polar bear?" Prim asked. Magnus waved her off, like he was saying, don't worry about it. Dammit, Magnus, I chided myself.

After two years, my memories of her were still a minefield. I’d stumble over one, and instantly my composure would be blown to bits.

I tried to focus.

The man and the girl were coming this way. The man’s sandy hair grew over his collar – not like an intentional style, but like he couldn’t be bothered to cut it. His baffled expression reminded me of a substitute teacher’s: I know I was hit by a spit wad, but I have no idea where it came from. His smart shoes were totally wrong for a Boston winter. His socks were different shades of brown. His tie looked like it had been tied while he spun around in total darkness.

The girl was definitely his daughter. Her hair was just as thick and wavy, though lighter blonde. She was dressed more sensibly in snow boots, jeans and a parka, with an orange T-shirt peeking out at the neckline. Her expression was more determined, angry. She gripped a sheaf of flyers like they were essays she’d been graded on unfairly.

If she was looking for me, I did not want to be found. She was scary.

"So, like Katniss," Peeta reasoned, and Katniss hit him with one of the many pillows lining the library.

I didn’t recognize her or her dad, but something tugged at the back of my skull… like a magnet trying to pull out a very old memory.

Father and daughter stopped where the path forked. They looked around as if just now realizing they were standing in the middle of a deserted park at no-thank-you o’clock in the dead of winter.

‘Unbelievable,’ said the girl. ‘I want to strangle him.’

Assuming she meant me, I hunkered down a little more.

Her dad sighed. ‘We should probably avoid killing him. He is your uncle.’

‘But two years?’ the girl demanded. ‘Dad, how could he not tell us for two years?’

‘I can’t explain Randolph’s actions. I never could, Annabeth.’

I inhaled so sharply that I was afraid they would hear me. A scab was ripped off my brain, exposing raw memories from when I was six years old.

Annabeth. Which meant the sandy-haired man was… Uncle Frederick?

I flashed back to the last family Thanksgiving we’d shared: Annabeth and me hiding in the library at Uncle Randolph’s town house, playing with dominoes while the adults yelled at each other downstairs.

You’re lucky you live with your momma. Annabeth stacked another domino on her miniature building. It was amazingly good, with columns in front like a temple. I’m going to run away.

I had no doubt she meant it. I was in awe of her confidence.

Then Uncle Frederick appeared in the doorway. His fists were clenched. His grim expression was at odds with the smiling reindeer on his sweater. Annabeth, we’re leaving.

Annabeth looked at me. Her grey eyes were a little too fierce for a first-grader’s. Be safe, Magnus.

With a flick of her finger, she knocked over her domino temple.

That was the last time I’d seen her.

Afterwards, my mom had been adamant: We’re staying away from your uncles. Especially Randolph. I won’t give him what he wants. Ever.

"How... vague." Tobias said.

She wouldn’t explain what Randolph wanted, or what she and Frederick and Randolph had argued about.

You have to trust me, Magnus. Being around them… it’s too dangerous.

I trusted my mom. Even after her death, I hadn’t had any contact with my relatives.

Now, suddenly, they were looking for me.

Randolph lived in town, but, as far as I knew, Frederick and Annabeth still lived in Virginia. Yet here they were, passing out flyers with my name and photo on them. Where had they even got a photo of me?

My head buzzed so badly that I missed some of their conversation.

‘– to find Magnus,’ Uncle Frederick was saying. He checked his smartphone. ‘Randolph is at the city shelter in the South End. He says no luck. We should try the youth shelter across the park.’

‘How do we even know Magnus is alive?’ Annabeth asked miserably. ‘Missing for two years? He could be frozen in a ditch somewhere!’

Part of me was tempted to jump out of my hiding place and shout, TA-DA!

Pretty much everyone groaned at that, even Magnus himself.

Even though it had been ten years since I’d seen Annabeth, I didn’t like seeing her distressed. But after so long on the streets I’d learned the hard way: you never walk into a situation until you understand what’s going on.

Smart, Tris thought.

‘Randolph is sure Magnus is alive,’ said Uncle Frederick. ‘He’s somewhere in Boston. If his life is truly in danger…’

They set off towards Charles Street, their voices carried away by the wind.

I was shivering now, but it wasn’t from the cold. I wanted to run after Frederick, tackle him and demand to hear what was going on. How did Randolph know I was still in town? Why were they looking for me? How was my life in danger now more than on any other day?

But I didn’t follow them.

"Why not?" Beetee, who's name Tris prayed she had heard correctly, asked. I remembered the last thing my mom ever told me. I’d been reluctant to use the fire escape, reluctant to leave her, but she’d gripped my arms and made me look at her. Magnus, run. Hide. Don’t trust anyone. I’ll find you. Whatever you do, don’t go to Randolph for help.

Then, before I’d made it out of the window, the door of our apartment had burst into splinters. Two pairs of glowing blue eyes had emerged from the darkness…

I shook off the memory and watched Uncle Frederick and Annabeth walk away, veering east towards the Common.

Uncle Randolph… For some reason, he’d contacted Frederick and Annabeth. He’d got them to Boston. All this time, Frederick and Annabeth hadn’t known that my mom was dead and I was missing. It seemed impossible, but, if it were true, why would Randolph tell them about it now?

Tris didn't like where the book seemed to be going.

Without confronting him directly, I could think of only one way to get answers. His town house was in Back Bay, an easy walk from here. According to Frederick, Randolph wasn’t home. He was somewhere in the South End, looking for me.

Since nothing started a day better than a little breaking and entering, I decided to pay his place a visit.

"Well," Peter said, looking determinedly at Tris. "Read on."

"I can't, dimwit," Tris snapped. "That's the end of the chapter."

Prim took the book from Tris. "I'll read next, if that's okay."


	3. Magnus is Less Sensible Than Me | Katniss

PRIM LOOKED AT KATNISS FOR CONFIRMATION, AT WHICH KATNISS ENDED UP MOUTHING _GO ON_. 

Prim picked up the book quickly and started to read. 

TWO

The Man with the Metal Bra

There was a moment of silence, until...

The sound of laugher filled the room. It took forever (really just about ten minutes) for everyone to catch their breath, but it came with a red Magnus.

"Seriously dude?" A girl, Lynn, Katniss thought, breathed out. "All the titles in the world, and you chose this one?"  
As Magnus tried (and failed) to form an excusable response, Prim decided to continue reading.

The family mansion sucked.

Oh, sure, you wouldn’t think so. You’d see the massive six-storey brownstone with gargoyles on the corners of the roof, stained-glass transom windows, marble front steps and all the other blah, blah, blah, rich-people-live-here details, and you’d wonder why I’m sleeping on the streets.

"Yeah," Mallory, who Katniss had taken a strong liking to, rolled her eyes. "Except for the fact that you're uncle is just a bit of an... you know."

Katniss noted how she didn't finish that sentence, though that may have just been her not being sure if she could speak that way in front of Prim.

Two words: Uncle Randolph.

It was his house. As the oldest son, he’d inherited it from my grandparents, who died before I was born. I never knew much about the family soap opera, but there was a lot of bad blood between the three kids: Randolph, Frederick and my mom. After the Great Thanksgiving Schism, we never visited the ancestral homestead again. Our apartment was, like, half a mile away, but Randolph might as well have lived on Mars.

My mom only mentioned him if we happened to be driving past the brownstone. Then she would point it out the way you might point out a dangerous cliff. See? There it is. Avoid it.

"And yet," T.J, or at least, that's what Katniss figured he was called, said, "you walk straight up there like you live there."

Hearth, who apparently was an elf (Katniss didn't understand it either), signed something, and Blitz, who was a dwarf (see confusion for Hearth), translated for pretty much everyone that didn't understand ASL as they called it (which was two thirds of the people here). "You act like this is a surprise."

T.J just shrugged like, It's not really.

After I started living on the streets, I would sometimes walk by at night. I’d peer in the windows and see glowing display cases of antique swords and axes, creepy helmets with face masks staring at me from the walls, statues silhouetted in the upstairs windows like petrified ghosts.

Several times I considered breaking in to poke around, but I’d never been tempted to knock on the door. Please, Uncle Randolph, I know you hated my mother and haven’t seen me in ten years; I know you care more about your rusty old collectibles than you do about your family, but may I live in your fine house and eat your leftover crusts of bread?

"Don't blame you," Katniss muttered.

No thanks. I’d rather be on the street, eating day-old falafel from the food court.

Still… I figured it would be simple enough to break in, look around and see if I could find answers about what was going on. While I was there, maybe I could grab some stuff to pawn.

"He's a real jerk, apparently," Katniss said, "so it's justified."

"Exactly!" It wasn't hard to guess who said that, but Magnus ended up shrinking under Sam's look. 

Katniss figured that girl didn't need a death glare to scare someone.

Sorry if that offends your sense of right and wrong.

Oh, wait. No, I’m not.

A group of kids about Katniss's age (all dressed in black, the colors of what they called their factions) snickered. Loudly.

I don’t steal from just anybody. I choose obnoxious jerks who have too much already. If you’re driving a new BMW and you park it in a disabled spot without a permit, then, yeah, I’ve got no problem jimmying your window and taking some change from your cupholder. If you’re coming out of Barneys with your bag of silk handkerchiefs, so busy talking on your phone and pushing people out of your way that you’re not paying attention, I am there for you, ready to pickpocket your wallet. If you can afford five thousand dollars to blow your nose, you can afford to buy me dinner.

Katniss thought of all the food they had for one meal in the Capitol, and she found herself agreeing with Magnus. Even a little bit of wealth from the Capitol would've been amazing for her "family". Meaning Gale's family.

I am judge, jury and thief. And, as far as obnoxious jerks went, I figured I couldn’t do better than Uncle Randolph.

Blitz nodded in agreement. "True."

The house fronted Commonwealth Avenue. I headed around back to the poetically named Public Alley 429. Randolph’s parking spot was empty. Stairs led down to the basement entrance. If there was a security system, I couldn’t spot it. The door was a simple latch lock without even a deadbolt. Come on, Randolph. At least make it a challenge.

Two minutes later I was inside.

In the kitchen, I helped myself to some sliced turkey, crackers and milk from the carton. No falafel. Dammit. Now I was really in the mood for some, but I found a chocolate bar and stuffed it in my coat pocket for later. (Chocolate must be savoured, not rushed.) Then I headed upstairs into a mausoleum of mahogany furniture, oriental rugs, oil paintings, marble-tiled floors and crystal chandeliers… It was just embarrassing. Who lives like this?

Katniss was surprised on how alike she and Magnus seemed to think.

At age six, I couldn’t appreciate how expensive all this stuff was, but my general impression of the mansion was the same: dark, oppressive, creepy. It was hard to imagine my mom growing up here. It was easy to understand why she’d become a fan of the great outdoors.

"Maybe because the outdoors are amazing?" Katniss said. 

Our apartment over the Korean BBQ joint in Allston had been cosy enough, but Mom never liked being inside. She always said her real home was the Blue Hills. We used to go hiking and camping there in all kinds of weather – fresh air, no walls or ceilings, no company but the ducks, geese and squirrels.

This brownstone, by comparison, felt like a prison. As I stood alone in the foyer, my skin crawled with invisible beetles.

I climbed to the next floor. The library smelled of lemon polish and leather, just like I remembered. Along one wall was a lit glass case full of Randolph’s rusty Viking helmets and corroded axe blades. My mom once told me that Randolph taught history at Harvard before some big disgrace got him fired. She wouldn’t go into details, but clearly the guy was still an artefact nut.

You’re smarter than either of your uncles, Magnus, my mom once told me. With your grades, you could easily get into Harvard.

That had been back when she was still alive, I was still in school, and I might have had a future that extended past finding my next meal.

In one corner of Randolph’s office sat a big slab of rock like a tombstone, the front chiselled and painted with elaborate red swirly designs. In the centre was a crude drawing of a snarling beast – maybe a lion or a wolf.

I shuddered. Let’s not think about wolves.

Agreed, Katniss thought. I don't want to remember the wolves. Not the ones I dealt with anyway.

I approached Randolph’s desk. I’d been hoping for a computer, or a notepad with helpful information – anything to explain why they were looking for me. Instead, spread across the desk were pieces of parchment as thin and yellow as onion skin. They looked like maps a school kid in medieval times had made for social studies: faint sketches of a coastline, various points labelled in an alphabet I didn’t know. Sitting on top of them, like a paperweight, was a leather pouch.

My breath caught. I recognized that pouch. I untied the drawstring and grabbed one of the dominoes… except it wasn’t a domino. My six-year-old self had assumed that’s what Annabeth and I had been playing with. Over the years, the memory had reinforced itself. But, instead of dots, these stones were painted with red symbols.

Hearth signed something, but this time Magnus translated. "Runestones. You were playing with runestones."

The one in my hand was shaped like a tree branch or a deformed F

My heart pounded. I wasn’t sure why. I wondered if coming here had been such a good idea. The walls felt like they were closing in. On the big rock in the corner, the drawing of the beast seemed to sneer at me, its red outline glistening like fresh blood.

I moved to the window. I thought it might help to look outside. Along the centre of the avenue stretched the Commonwealth Mall – a ribbon of parkland covered in snow. The bare trees were strung with white Christmas lights. At the end of the block, inside an iron fence, the bronze statue of Leif Erikson stood on his pedestal, his hand cupped over his eyes. Leif gazed towards the Charlesgate overpass as if to say, Look, I discovered a highway!

More snickering (Katniss may or may not had joined in at that point).

My mom and I used to joke about Leif. His armour was on the skimpy side: a short skirt and a breastplate that looked like a Viking bra.

I had no clue why that statue was in the middle of Boston, but I figured it couldn’t be a coincidence that Uncle Randolph grew up to study Vikings. He’d lived here his whole life. He’d probably looked at Leif every day out of the window. Maybe as a child Randolph had thought, Someday, I want to study Vikings. Men who wear metal bras are cool!

Alex looked at Magnus angrily. "Seriously Magnus, one more joke like that and I'll behead you." Magnus didn't seem to be eager to test that threat. 

My eyes drifted to the base of the statue. Somebody was standing there… looking up at me.

You know how when you see somebody out of context and it takes you a second to recognize them? In Leif Erikson’s shadow stood a tall, pale man in a black leather jacket, black motorcycle pants and pointy-toed boots. His short, spiky hair was so blond it was almost white. His only dash of colour was a striped red-and-white scarf wrapped around his neck and spilling off his shoulders like a melted candy cane.

If I didn’t know him, I might’ve guessed he was cosplaying some anime character. But I did know him. It was Hearth, my fellow homeless dude and surrogate ‘mom’.

"Seriously? You're the 'mom?'" A small girl with shoulder length hair, Christina, though Katniss couldn't be sure, asked.

Heart just shrugged at her.

I was a little creeped out, a little offended. Had he seen me on the street and followed me? I didn’t need some fairy god-stalker looking after me.

I spread my hands: What are you doing here?

Hearth made a gesture like he was plucking something from his cupped hand and throwing it away. After two years of hanging around him, I was getting pretty good at reading sign language.

He was saying GET OUT.

"Totally not going to freak him out." 

Johanna Mason, Katniss noticed, seemed to treat sarcasm as an old friend.

He didn’t look alarmed, but it was hard to tell with Hearth. He never showed much emotion. Whenever we hung out, he mostly just stared at me with those pale grey eyes like he was waiting for me to explode.

I lost valuable seconds trying to figure out what he meant, why he was here when he was supposed to be in Copley Square.

He gestured again: both hands pointing forward with two fingers, dipping up and down twice. Hurry.

"That's..." Gale said, "troubling. Why did he need to hurry to leave? As far as we know, he could've been all the way across the city at that time."

Magnus looked like he was trying hard not to tell their group something.

'Why?’ I said aloud.

Bad idea, Katniss thought. Really bad idea.

Behind me, a deep voice said, ‘Hello, Magnus.’

"Who's that?" Peeta asked. "Whatever's after you?"

I nearly jumped out of my shoes. Standing in the library doorway was a barrel-chested man with a trim white beard and a skullcap of grey hair. He wore a beige cashmere overcoat over a dark wool suit. His gloved hands gripped the handle of a polished wooden cane with an iron tip. Last time I’d seen him his hair had been black, but I knew that voice.

‘Randolph.’

He inclined his head a millimetre. ‘What a pleasant surprise. I’m glad you’re here.’ He sounded neither surprised nor glad. ‘We don’t have much time.’

The food and milk started to churn in my stomach. ‘M-much time… before what?’

His brow furrowed. His nose wrinkled as if he detected a mildly unpleasant odour. ‘You’re sixteen today, aren’t you? They’ll be coming to kill you.’

There was a second of stunned silence. 

"Please tell me that's not the end of the chapter," Caleb, a boy dressed in gray asked. "But if it isn, I'm reading next."

"Sorry Caleb, that's the end of the chapter" Prim said, "but you can go ahead and read."

She looked towards everyone else, but no one argued with her.

She handed the book over to Caleb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I should've established this first, but the Panem citizens come from the short time between The Hunger Games and Catching Fire, the nine world residents (the ones that have all traveled to other worlds anyway) come from after their books, and the Chicago residents come from before the Erudite takes over Dauntless (I'd say roughly before the final test but after Caleb leaves Erudite.


	4. I Wish I Had Followed My Own Advice | Magnus

MAGNUS WONDERED HOW LONG IT WAS GOING TO TAKE. HE REALLY HATED ALL THESE PEOPLE LOOKING INTO HIS BRAIN.

THREE

Don’t Accept Rides from Strange Relatives

"Why didn't you listen to yourself?" Tris asked.

"Because even my inner voice acts stupid."

Well, happy birthday to me!

Was it January 13? Honestly, I had no idea. Time flies when you’re sleeping under bridges and eating from dumpsters.

True, Magnus thought.

So I was officially sixteen. For my present, I got cornered by Uncle Freaky, who announced that I was marked for assassination.

‘Who –’ I started to ask. ‘You know what? Never mind. Nice seeing you, Randolph. I’ll be going now.’

Randolph remained in the doorway, blocking my exit. He pointed the iron tip of his cane at me. I swear I could feel it pushing against my sternum from across the room.

‘Magnus, we need to talk. I don’t want them to get to you. Not after what happened to your mother…’

A punch in the face would’ve been less painful.

Why does everyone have to see my stupid actions? Magnus thought grimly, it's bad enough they already heard the nickname Beantown. All they need now is to hear about my gigantic crush on Alex, and then they'll have all the teasing material they need.

Memories from that night spun through my head like a sickening kaleidoscope: our apartment building shuddering, a scream from the floor below, my mother – who’d been tense and paranoid all day – dragging me towards the fire escape, telling me to run. The door splintered and burst. From the hallway, two beasts emerged, their pelts the colour of dirty snow, their eyes glowing blue. My fingers slipped off the fire-escape railing and I fell, landing in a pile of garbage bags in the alley. Moments later, the windows of our apartment exploded, belching fire.

My mom had told me to run. I did. She’d promised to find me. She never did. Later, on the news, I heard that her body had been recovered from the fire. The police were searching for me. They had questions: signs of arson; my record of disciplinary problems at school; neighbours’ reports of shouting and a loud crash from our apartment just before the explosion; the fact that I’d run from the scene. None of the reports mentioned wolves with glowing eyes.

Ever since that night I’d been hiding, living under the radar, too busy surviving to grieve properly for my mom, wondering if I’d hallucinated those beasts… but I knew I hadn’t.

Magnus wished he had.

Now, after all this time, Uncle Randolph wanted to help me.

I gripped the little domino stone so tightly it cut into my palm. ‘You don’t know what happened to my mom. You never cared about either of us.’

Randolph lowered his cane. He leaned on it heavily and stared at the carpet. I could almost believe I’d hurt his feelings.

Magnus wondered how younger him could act so stupid (correction, be so stupid)

‘I pleaded with your mother,’ he said. ‘I wanted her to bring you here – to live where I could protect you. She refused. After she died…’ He shook his head. ‘Magnus, you have no idea how long I’ve looked for you, or how much danger you’re in.’

‘I’m fine,’ I snapped, though my heart was thumping against my ribs. ‘I’ve been taking care of myself pretty well.’

‘Perhaps, but those days are over.’ The certainty in Randolph’s voice gave me a chill. ‘You’re sixteen now, the age of manhood. You escaped them once, the night your mother died. They won’t let you escape again. This is our last chance. Let me help you, or you won’t live through the day.’

The low winter light shifted across the stained-glass transom, washing Randolph’s face in changing colours, chameleon-style.

I shouldn’t have come here. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Over and over, my mom had given me one clear message: Don’t go to Randolph. Yet here I was.

Again, Magnus had acted stupidly and impulsively.

The longer I listened to him, the more terrified I got, and the more desperately I wanted to hear what he had to say.

‘I don’t need your help.’ I set the strange little domino on the desk. ‘I don’t want –’

‘I know about the wolves.’

That stopped me.

‘I know what you saw,’ he continued. ‘I know who sent the creatures. Regardless of what the police think, I know how your mother really died.’

‘How –’

‘Magnus, there’s so much I need to tell you about your parents, about your inheritance … About your father.’

An ice-cold wire threaded its way down my spine. ‘You knew my father?’

I didn’t want to give Randolph any leverage. Living on the street had taught me how dangerous leverage could be. But he had me hooked. I needed to hear this information. Judging from the appraising gleam in his eyes, he knew it.

‘Yes, Magnus. Your father’s identity, your mother’s murder, the reason she refused my help … it’s all connected.’ He gestured towards his display of Viking goodies. ‘My whole life, I’ve been working towards one goal. I’ve been trying to solve a historical mystery. Until recently, I didn’t see the whole picture. Now I do. It’s all been leading to this day, your sixteenth birthday.’

I backed up to the window, as far as I could get from Uncle Randolph. ‘Look, I don’t understand ninety per cent of what you’re saying, but if you can tell me about my dad –’

The building rattled like a volley of cannons had gone off in the distance – a rumble so low I felt it in my teeth.

‘They’ll be here soon,’ Randolph warned. ‘We’re running out of time.’

‘Who are they?’

Randolph limped forward, relying on his cane. His right knee didn’t seem to work. ‘I’m asking a lot, Magnus. You have no reason to trust me. But you need to come with me right now. I know where your birthright is.’ He pointed to the old maps on the desk. ‘Together, we can retrieve what is yours. It’s the only thing that might protect you.’

Jack was pretty much the only thing Magnus was sure hadn't ended up being a problem. Sure he did have an amazing family of Floor 19, but sometimes he did wish he was still alive and with his mother, but he was sure that was at least a little expected.

I glanced over my shoulder, out of the window. Down in the Commonwealth Mall, Hearth had disappeared. I should have done the same. Looking at Uncle Randolph, I tried to see any resemblance to my mother, anything that might inspire me to trust him. I found nothing. His imposing bulk, his intense dark eyes, his humourless face and stiff manner… he was the exact opposite of my mom.

‘My car is out back,’ he said.

‘M-maybe we should wait for Annabeth and Uncle Frederick.’

Randolph grimaced. ‘They don’t believe me. They never believed me. Out of desperation, as a last resort, I brought them to Boston to help me look for you, but now that you’re here –’

The building shook again. This time the boom felt closer and stronger. I wanted to believe it was from construction nearby, or a military ceremony, or anything easily explainable. But my gut told me otherwise. The noise sounded like the fall of a gargantuan foot – like the noise that had shaken our apartment two years ago.

'Please, Magnus.’ Randolph’s voice quavered. ‘I lost my own family to those monsters. I lost my wife, my daughters.’

‘You – you had a family? My mom never said anything –’

‘No, she wouldn’t have. But your mother… Natalie was my only sister. I loved her. I hated to lose her. I can’t lose you, too. Come with me. Your father left something for you to find – something that will change the worlds.’

Too many questions crowded my brain. I didn’t like the crazy light in Randolph’s eyes. I didn’t like the way he said worlds, plural. And I didn’t believe he’d been trying to find me since my mom died. I had my antenna up constantly. If Randolph had been asking about me by name, one of my street friends would’ve tipped me off, like Blitz had done this morning with Annabeth and Frederick.

Something had changed – something that made Randolph decide I was worth looking for.

‘What if I just run?’ I asked. ‘Will you try to stop me?’

‘If you run, they’ll find you. They’ll kill you.’

My throat felt like it was full of cotton balls. I didn’t trust Randolph. Unfortunately, I believed he was in earnest about people trying to kill me. His voice had the ring of truth.

‘Well, then,’ I said, ‘let’s go for a ride.’

"Magnus, you can't be serious." Katniss looked at Magnus in awe. Pretty much everyone else was too invested in what was happening to comment, but that last line had pretty much shocked everyone.

"What did you expect? It's in the chapter title."

Magnus just ended up with a pillow in his face.


	5. Magnus Really Should Have More Common Sense (Not That I Can Talk) | Tris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I'm sorry if these characters are OOC. I try my best to keep them in character, but I can't keep every single character in character throughout every single piece of dialogue. So, I'm sorry, and I'll happily edit them to be more in character if you nicely point out how they're OOC. Thank you

TRIS WAS DREADING READING HER BOOK.

One of the reasons she was so glad to read Magnus's book. Better him than her.

Shut up, Tris chided herself. That's not fair to Magnus. I should put him before me.

What an Abnegation way of thinking, something she still hadn't managed to fully shake.

Tris was a little preoccupied with her thoughts as she read.

FOUR

Seriously, the Dude Cannot Drive

You’ve heard about bad Boston drivers? That’s my Uncle Randolph.

The dude gunned his BMW 528 (of course it had to be a BMW) and shot down Commonwealth Avenue, ignoring the lights, honking at other cars, weaving randomly from lane to lane.

‘You missed a pedestrian,’ I said. ‘You want to go back and hit her?’

Tris snorted. She had figured Magnus wasn't a fighter, but she knew well enough that she still needed to watch him. He could be dangerous.

Randolph was too distracted to answer. He kept glancing at the sky as if looking for storm clouds. He gunned the BMW through the intersection at Exeter.

‘So,’ I said, ‘where are we going?’

‘The bridge.’

That explained everything. There were, like, twenty bridges in the Boston area.

Sounds about typical, if Tris had any clue on how Magnus's life was like.

I ran my hand along the heated leather seat. It had been maybe six months since I’d ridden in a car. The last time it had been a social worker’s Toyota. Before that, a police cruiser. Both times I’d used a fake name. Both times I’d escaped, but over the past two years I’d come to equate cars with holding cells. I wasn’t sure my luck had changed any today.

I waited for Randolph to answer any of the nagging little questions I had, like, oh: Who’s my dad? Who murdered my mom? How did you lose your wife and kids? Are you presently hallucinating? Did you really have to wear that clove-scented cologne?

"You sure you're not somehow related to Uriah?" Even Tris couldn't argue with Lynn's statement.

Neither, it seemed, could Magnus.

But he was too busy causing traffic havoc.

Finally, just to make small talk, I asked, ‘So who’s trying to kill me?’

"That's small talk? We might just get along," Johanna, who was apparently from Panem or whatever, said to Magnus.

Magnus looked like he wasn't sure how to feel about that.

He turned right on Arlington. We skirted the Public Garden, past the equestrian statue of George Washington, the rows of gaslight lamp posts and snow-covered hedges. I was tempted to bail out of the car, run back to the swan pond and hide in my sleeping bag.

‘Magnus,’ said Randolph, ‘I’ve made my life’s work studying the Norse exploration of North America.’

‘Wow, thanks,’ I said. ‘That really answered my question.’

"Welcome to my world." 

Tris found it creepy how she and Katniss spoke at the exact same time.

Suddenly Randolph did remind me of my mom. He gave me the same exasperated scowl, the same look over the top of his glasses, like, Please, kid, cut the sarcasm. The similarity made my chest ache.

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘I’ll humour you. Norse exploration. You mean the Vikings.’

Randolph winced. ‘Well… Viking means raider. It’s more of a job description. Not all Norse people were Vikings. But, yes, those guys.’

‘The statue of Leif Erikson… Does that mean the Vikings – er, the Norse – discovered Boston? I thought the Pilgrims did that.’

‘I could give you a three-hour lecture on that topic alone.’

‘Please don’t.’

‘Suffice it to say, the Norse explored North America and even built settlements around the year 1000, almost five hundred years before Christopher Columbus. Scholars agree on that.’

‘That’s a relief. I hate it when scholars disagree.’

Pretty much everyone, even Peter, snorted at that.

‘But no one is sure how far south the Norse sailed. Did they make it to what is now the United States? That statue of Leif Erikson… that was the pet project of a wishful thinker in the 1800s, a man named Eben Horsford. He was convinced that Boston was the lost Norse settlement of Norumbega, their furthest point of exploration. He had an instinct, a gut feeling, but no real proof. Most historians wrote him off as a crackpot.’

He looked at me meaningfully.

‘Let me guess… you don’t think he’s a crackpot.’ I resisted the urge to say, Takes one to believe one.

‘Those maps on my desk,’ Randolph said. ‘They are the proof. My colleagues call them forgeries, but they’re not. I staked my reputation on it!’

And that’s why you got fired from Harvard, I thought.

‘The Norse explorers did make it this far,’ he continued. ‘They were searching for something… and they found it here. One of their ships sank nearby. For years I thought the shipwreck was in Massachusetts Bay. I sacrificed everything to find it. I bought my own boat, took my wife, my children on expeditions. The last time…’ His voice broke. ‘The storm came out of nowhere, the fires…’

He didn’t seem anxious to share more, but I got the general idea: he’d lost his family at sea. He really had staked everything on his crazy theory about Vikings in Boston.

I felt bad for the guy, sure. I also didn’t want to be his next casualty.

No kidding, Tris thought, I'd be worried if it were any other feeling.

We stopped at the corner of Boylston and Charles.

‘Maybe I’ll just get out here.’ I tried the handle. The door was locked from the driver’s side.

Magnus, listen. It’s no accident you were born in Boston. Your father wanted you to find what he lost two thousand years ago.’

My feet got jumpy. ‘Did you just say… two thousand years?’

‘Give or take.’

I considered screaming and pounding on the window. Would anybody help me? If I could get out of the car, maybe I could find Uncle Frederick and Annabeth, assuming they were any less insane than Randolph.

We turned onto Charles Street, heading north between the Public Garden and the Common. Randolph could’ve been taking me anywhere – Cambridge, the North End, or some out-of-the-way body dump.

I tried to keep calm. ‘Two thousand years… that’s a longer lifespan than your average dad.’

"No dip Sherlock," Alex said, earning multiple weird looks.

Randolph’s face reminded me of the Man in the Moon from old black-and-white cartoons: pale and rotund, pitted and scarred, with a secretive smile that wasn’t very friendly. ‘Magnus, what do you know about Norse mythology?’

This just gets better and better, I thought.

‘Uh, not much. My mom had a picture book she used to read me when I was little. And weren’t there a couple of movies about Thor?’

Randolph shook his head in disgust. ‘Those movies… ridiculously inaccurate. The real gods of Asgard – Thor, Loki, Odin and the rest – are much more powerful, much more terrifying than anything Hollywood could concoct.’

"Also," Sam remarked, "they made Loki look way too cool. He actually looks like the God of Baseball, the way he dresses."

Baseball? The past sure did confuse Tris. She guessed it must've been another version of paintball, but she couldn't be sure.

‘But… they’re myths. They’re not real.’

Randolph gave me a sort of pitying look. ‘Myths are simply stories about truths we’ve forgotten.’

‘So, look, I just remembered I have an appointment down the street –’

‘A millennium ago, Norse explorers came to this land.’ Randolph drove us past the Cheers bar on Beacon Street, where bundled-up tourists were taking photos of themselves in front of the sign. I spotted a crumpled flyer skittering across the sidewalk: it had the word MISSING and an old picture of me. One of the tourists stepped on it.

‘The captain of these explorers,’ Randolph continued, ‘was a son of the god Skirnir.’

‘A son of a god. Really, anywhere around here is good. I can walk.’

‘This man carried a very special item,’ Randolph said, ‘something that once belonged to your father. When the Norse ship went down in a storm, that item was lost. But you – you have the ability to find it.’

I tried the door again. Still locked.

"Okay, that's really sketchy," Peter said. 

Wow, Tris thought. Peter has more than one brain cell.

The really bad part? The more Randolph talked, the less I could convince myself that he was nuts. His story seeped into my mind – storms, wolves, gods, Asgard. The words clicked into place like pieces of a puzzle I’d never had the courage to finish. I was starting to believe him, and that scared the baked beans out of me.

Randolph whipped around the access road for Storrow Drive. He parked at a meter on Cambridge Street. To the north, past the elevated tracks of the Mass General T station, rose the stone towers of the Longfellow Bridge.

‘That’s where we’re going?’ I asked.

Randolph fished for quarters in his cupholder. ‘All these years, it was so much closer than I realized. I just needed you!’

‘I’m definitely feeling the love.’

‘You are sixteen today.’ Randolph’s eyes danced with excitement. ‘It’s the perfect day for you to reclaim your birthright. But it’s also what your enemies have been waiting for. We have to find it first.’

‘But –’

‘Trust me a little while longer, Magnus. Once we have the weapon –’

‘Weapon? Now my birthright is a weapon?’

‘Once you have it in your possession, you’ll be much safer. I can explain everything to you. I can help you train for what’s to come.’

"Sometimes," Katniss said, looking lost in what Tris guessed were far off memories, "training isn't nearly enough. Especially if you're on a time crunch."

He opened his car door. Before he could get out, I grabbed his wrist.

I usually avoid touching people. Physical contact creeps me out. But I needed his full attention.

‘Give me one answer,’ I said. ‘One clear answer, without the rambling and the history lectures. You said you knew my dad. Who is he?’

Randolph placed his hand over mine, which made me squirm. His palm was too rough and calloused for a history professor’s. ‘On my life, Magnus, I swear this is the truth: your father is a Norse god. Now, hurry. We’re in a twenty-minute parking spot.’

"He can't... He can't just drop a bomb like that and walk away!" Tris said, pretty much throwing the book in Peter's direction (she regrets nothing).

"He can, and he just did. Now be quiet Stiff; It's my turn to read."


	6. Magnus Has Really Stupid Moments | Katniss

TRIS GLARED AT PETER, AND KATNISS FIGURED THEY WERE ENEMIES.

At least, that was what it seemed to be to Katniss.

"Hey!" Magnus yelled, causing Tris and Peter to look at him scathingly. "You gonna read or not?"

Peter picked up the book.

FIVE

I’ve Always Wanted to Destroy a Bridge

Peter snickered, and Tris said, "What Peter, jealous?"

Peter tried and failed to discreetly give Tris a rude sign, that pretty much everyone could understand.  
Katniss figured rude symbols never died out, even through what Katniss figured was hundreds of years.

‘You can’t drop a bombshell like that and walk away!’ I yelled as Randolph walked away.

Katniss could've sworn Tris muttered, "That's what I said," though she couldn't have been sure.

Despite his cane and his stiff leg, the guy could really move. He was like an Olympic gold medallist in hobbling. He forged ahead, climbing the sidewalk of the Longfellow Bridge as I jogged after him, the wind screaming in my ears.

The morning commuters were coming in from Cambridge. A single line of cars was backed up the length of the span, barely moving. You’d think my uncle and I would be the only ones dumb enough to walk across the bridge in sub-zero weather, but, this being Boston, half a dozen runners were chugging along, looking like emaciated seals in their Lycra bodysuits. A mom with two kids bundled in a stroller was walking on the opposite sidewalk. Her kids looked about as happy as I felt.

My uncle was still fifteen feet ahead of me.

Uriah snickered. "Beaten by an old man, what a sight."

‘Randolph!’ I called. ‘I’m talking to you!’

‘The drift of the river,’ he muttered. ‘The landfill on the banks… allowing for a thousand years of shifting tidal patterns –’

‘Yo!’ I caught the sleeve of his cashmere coat. ‘Rewind to the part about a Norse god being my pappy.’

Now everyone was snickering, a few people muttering, "Blunt Magnus."

Randolph scanned our surroundings. We’d stopped at one of the bridge’s main towers – a cone of granite rising fifty feet above us. People said the towers looked like giant salt and pepper shakers, but I’d always thought they looked like Daleks from Doctor Who. (So I’m a nerd. Sue me. And, yes, even homeless kids watch TV sometimes – in shelter rec rooms, on public-library computers… We have our ways.)

A hundred feet below us, the Charles River glistened steel grey, its surface mottled with patches of snow and ice like the skin of a massive python.

Randolph leaned so far over the railing it made me jittery.

‘The irony,’ he muttered. ‘Here, of all places…’

‘So, anyway,’ I said, ‘about my father…’

Randolph gripped my shoulder. ‘Look down there, Magnus. What do you see?’

Cautiously I glanced over the side. ‘Water.’

Hearth signed something, which needed no translation for Katniss, because she figured it was what they all were thinking. No kidding.

‘No, the carved ornamentation, just below us.’

I looked again. About halfway down the side of the pier, a shelf of granite jutted over the water like a theatre seating box with a pointy tip. ‘It looks like a nose.’

Christina snorted.

‘No, it’s… Well, from this angle, it does sort of look like a nose. But it’s the prow of a Viking longship. See? The other pier has one, too. The poet Longfellow – for whom the bridge was named – he was fascinated by the Norse. Wrote poems about their gods. Like Eben Horsford, Longfellow believed the Vikings had explored Boston. Hence the designs on the bridge.’

‘You should give tours,’ I said. ‘All the rabid Longfellow fans would pay big bucks.’

‘Don’t you see?’ Randolph still had his hand on my shoulder, which wasn’t making me any less anxious. ‘So many people over the centuries have known. They’ve felt it instinctively, even if they had no proof. This area wasn’t just visited by the Vikings. It was sacred to them! Right below us – somewhere near these decorative longships – is the wreck of an actual longship, holding a cargo of incalculable value.’

‘I still see water. And I still want to hear about Dad.’

‘Magnus, the Norse explorers came here searching for the axis of the worlds, the very trunk of the tree. They found it –’

A low boom echoed across the river. The bridge shook. About a mile away, amid the thicket of chimneys and steeples of Back Bay, a column of oily black smoke mushroomed skyward.

I steadied myself against the railing. ‘Um, wasn’t that close to your house?’

"Not a good sign Magnus," Alex said, "though to be fair, you probably couldn't recognize a good sign if it danced in front of you in a poncho and heels."

Randolph’s expression hardened. His stubbly beard glistened silver in the sunlight.

‘We’re out of time. Magnus, extend your hand over the water. The sword is down there. Call it. Focus on it as if it’s the most important thing in the world – the thing you want the most.’

‘A sword? I – look, Randolph, I can tell you’re having a hard day, but –’

‘DO IT.’

The sternness in his voice made me flinch. Randolph had to be insane, talking about gods and swords and ancient shipwrecks. Yet the column of smoke over Back Bay was very real. Sirens wailed in the distance. On the bridge, drivers stuck their heads out of their windows to gawk, holding up smartphones and taking pictures.

"He was insane, kid," Blitz said, "just not about that."

And, as much as I wanted to deny it, Randolph’s words resonated with me. For the first time, I felt like my body was humming at the right frequency, like I’d finally been tuned to match the crappy soundtrack of my life.

I stretched my hand out over the river.

Nothing happened.

Of course nothing happened, I chided myself. What were you expecting?

The bridge shook more violently. Further down the sidewalk, a jogger stumbled. From behind me came the crunch of one car rear-ending another. Horns blared.

Above the rooftops of Back Bay, a second column of smoke billowed. Ash and orange cinders sprayed upward as if the explosion were volcanic, spewing from the ground.  
That – that was a lot closer,’ I noted. ‘It’s like something is zeroing in on us.’

I really hoped Randolph would say, Nah, of course not. Don’t be silly!

He seemed to get older before my eyes. His wrinkles darkened. His shoulders slumped. He leaned heavily on his cane. ‘Please, not again,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Not like last time.’

‘Last time?’ Then I remembered what he’d said about losing his wife and daughters – a storm out of nowhere, fires.

Randolph locked eyes with me. ‘Try again, Magnus. Please.’

I thrust my hand towards the river. I imagined I was reaching for my mom, trying to pull her from the past – trying to save her from the wolves and the burning apartment. I reached for answers that might explain why I’d lost her, why my whole life since then had been nothing but a downhill spiral of suck.

Directly below me, the surface of the water began to steam. Ice melted. Snow evaporated, leaving a hole the shape of a hand – my hand, twenty times larger.

I didn’t know what I was doing. I’d had the same feeling when my mom first taught me to ride a bike. Don’t think about what you’re doing, Magnus. Don’t hesitate, or you’ll fall. Just keep going.

"You compared riding a bike to summoning a weapon," Sam said, "that is... beyond stupid."

I swept my hand back and forth. A hundred feet below, the steaming hand mirrored my movements, clearing the surface of the Charles. Suddenly I stopped. A pinpoint of warmth hit the centre of my palm as if I’d intercepted a beam of sunlight.

Something was down there… a heat source buried deep in the frigid mud of the river bottom. I closed my fingers and pulled.

A dome of water swelled and ruptured like a dry-ice bubble. An object resembling a lead pipe shot upward and landed in my hand.

It looked nothing like a sword. I held it by one end, but there was no hilt. If it had ever had a point or a sharp edge, it didn’t now. The thing was about the right size for a blade, but it was so pitted and corroded, so encrusted with barnacles and glistening with mud and slime, I couldn’t even be sure it was metal. In short, it was the saddest, flimsiest, most disgusting piece of scrap I’d ever magically pulled from a river.

‘At last!’ Randolph lifted his eyes to the heavens. I got the feeling that, if not for his bum knee, he might’ve knelt on the ground and offered a prayer to the non-existent Norse gods.

"Non-existent," Mallory mumbled. "If they were, it would've saved all us a whole lot of trouble."

‘Yeah.’ I hefted my new prize. ‘I feel safer already.’

‘You can renew it!’ Randolph said. ‘Just try!’

I turned the blade. I was surprised that it hadn’t already disintegrated in my hand.

‘I dunno, Randolph. This thing looks way past renewing. I’m not even sure it can be recycled.’

If I sound unimpressed or ungrateful, don’t get me wrong. The way I’d pulled the sword out of the river was so cool it freaked me out. I’d always wanted a superpower. I just hadn’t expected mine to entail retrieving garbage from river bottoms. The community-service volunteers were going to love me.

Many people looked like they were debating whether to laugh.

‘Concentrate, Magnus!’ Randolph said. ‘Quickly, before –’

Fifty feet away, the centre of the bridge erupted in flames. The shock wave pushed me against the rail. The right side of my face felt sunburned. Pedestrians screamed. Cars swerved and crashed into one another.

For some stupid reason, I ran towards the explosion. It was like I couldn’t help myself. Randolph shuffled after me, calling my name, but his voice seemed far away, unimportant.

 _Get out of there Magnus_ , Katniss found herself thinking. _You'll be killed for sure._

Fire danced across the roofs of cars. Windows shattered from the heat, spraying the street with glass gravel. Drivers scrambled out of their vehicles and fled.

It looked like a meteor had hit the bridge. A ten-foot-diameter circle of asphalt was charred and steaming. In the centre of the impact zone stood a human-size figure: a dark man in a dark suit.

When I say dark, I mean his skin was the purest, most beautiful shade of black I’d ever seen. Squid ink at midnight would not have been so black. His clothes were the same: a well-tailored jacket and slacks, a crisp shirt and tie – all cut from the fabric of a neutron star. His face was inhumanly handsome, chiselled obsidian. His long hair was combed back in an immaculate oil slick. His pupils glowed like tiny rings of lava.

I thought, If Satan were real, he would look like this guy.

Then I thought, No, Satan would be a schlub next to this guy. This guy is like Satan’s fashion consultant.

Those red eyes locked on to me.

‘Magnus Chase.’ His voice was deep and resonant, his accent vaguely German or Scandinavian. ‘You have brought me a gift.’

 _He's after the weapon_ , Katniss realized. _But what's so important about it?_

An abandoned Toyota Corolla stood between us. Satan’s fashion consultant walked straight through it, melting a path down the middle of the chassis like a blowtorch through wax.

The sizzling halves of the Corolla collapsed behind him, the wheels melted to puddles.

‘I will make you a gift as well.’ The dark man extended his hand. Smoke curled off his sleeve and ebony fingers. ‘Give me the sword and I will spare your life.’

"That's the end."

Peter's words brought many sounds of outrage for those interested in the story, and Katniss, to her surprise, was among them.

Prim stood up. "Lets take a break. Trust me, the last thing we need is to have to heal someone."

Katniss was starting to hate the light that came after Prim's words.


	7. Prim Didn't Get What She Wanted | Magnus

MAGNUS WAS AMAZED THAT PRIM WAS SO CONFIDENT IN A BUNCH OF DEAD TEENAGERS THAT SHE TRUSTED THEM NOT TO KILL EACH OTHER. OR HURT EACH OTHER.

(Spoiler alert: the first happened.)

See, after Prim said they should take a break, a light came. This light was apparently a taxi, though it probably was more of a tour bus, because no taxi could possibly fit all them. There was nearly thirty of them after all.

But the taxi? Yeah, it dropped them right into Hotel Valhalla.

And what ended up happening?

Oh, yeah, that's right. Someone (Alex, by the way) had previously mad a fiery Irish redhead very angry. And out for blood, all because they made a stupid bet that Alex won.

(The prank itself wasn't important, but let's just say it involved two einherjar, a box of fireworks, and a prank gone wrong)

But guess who decided to get revenge when they landed in Valhalla?

You guessed it, everyone's favorite Irish redheaded demigod, Mallory Keen!

The only thing was, Alex was faster. Like, chop off a redhaired head faster.

"Did you just kill her?" Tris asked, staring at the wolves (Magnus would never get over the fact that Valhalla didn't have a hamster as a mascot: They just didn't realize how much more enjoyable that would be) that had come to take Mallory's body.

Alex just shrugged. "It's not like she won't revive. We might just be waiting a while, but her room is literally right there."

He pointed towards Mallory's room.

Johanna (and yes, Magnus tried his best to memorize everyone's names; it didn't stop him from getting Peter and Peeta confused, though he just tried to train his brain to remember that Peter was the asshole, and Peeta was actually nice to people around him) looked at Alex. "What the hell do you mean by revive? And where the fuck are we?"

T.J stepped between them and looked at Johanna. "Welcome to Hotel Valhalla. This, is literally the only place in all the nine worlds that we einherjar are immortal. That's what he means by revive."

"She. I'm a girl right now."

"Well, what SHE means by revive. Sorry."

Alex just excepted this with a nod of her head. "We should eat while we can. But let's agree not to kill each other guys. We don't want to kill one of the mortals."

All those who could die permanently all agreed on this. Magnus honestly didn't blame them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's the small chapter. But here's the thing: I'm thinking about putting up a side story with this (not necessarily relating to this one) and I want to know something. Do you want a crossover with two of my other fandoms (Percy Jackson and The Owl House) OR do you want an OC fic in either Divergent or Hunger Games? If there's enough interest in both, I may use both.


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